


Return of the Soldiers

by ThisLazyWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Communication Failure, Courting Rituals, Dorms, Get together fluff, M/M, Roommates, Truth or Dare, Victorian Flower Language, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 05:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisLazyWitch/pseuds/ThisLazyWitch
Summary: "Two months into silently sharing a dorm room and pretending they didn’t notice how little the other boy slept, or the severity of nightmares they had when they did, Draco and Harry (seamlessly, silently, and unintentionally) worked out a routine- Harry stayed awake until 3:30 am, which was when Draco woke, and Harry would sleep.""What began with simple card games delved quickly into strip poker, and when nearly everyone was down to their pants and rather bitter about it, truth or dare.""Harry chose truth.“Why did you and Ginny break up?” Pansy, ever the gossip, tried to make a point of relatively harmless questions or dares for the golden trio.“Because I realized I don’t like women. [...]"





	Return of the Soldiers

Hogwarts: Year 8 – Return of the soldiers

The Daily Prophet called the 8th year students ‘the returning soldiers.’ Harry thought that did a rather disservice to the students who had fought in their sixth and fifth years, of whom there were many. In fact, everyone who had been a fourth year or older was repeating. This created a large class of fourth years, and sadly, much, much smaller classes of fifth, sixth, and seventh, who were technically sixth, seventh, and eighth, respectively.  
Due to the shrunken size, they had abolished ‘houses’ above the fourth year. Fifth year and up wore robes of gray trim, and lived in small dorms that felt more like proper houses within the castle- they were divided by grade, and each had a common room, en-suite bathrooms for each dorm (which now slept two students a room), small kitchens, and small libraries that had shelves for class books, hooks for school bags, and a desk for each student. According to Minerva, according to Hermione, this would be permanent, for the future of the school, as an effort to stall the self-segregation of each school house upon entering the real world, and to promote learning to tolerate others who greatly differ from one’s self.   
Regardless of the longevity of the new house division, there was one truly insane outcome of its current implementation- Harry Potter found his name on his dorm room door to be directly above Draco Malfoy. Hermione was less than surprised, and told him that he was likely the only student in their year who could be trusted to sleep next to Draco without being tempted to hurt the boy- Everyone who was part of the Order had witnessed Harry’s extreme apathy after the war. They’d let him be all summer, figuring he very much deserved a break, and he’d spent the time and freedom renovating Grimrauld Place.   
Harry’s apathy didn’t extend to all aspects of his life. He still loved quidditch, and cooking, and was impressively proud to own a home that he could take care of. The latter had Molly crying her eyes out as she realized where this abnormally strong pride in his house stemmed from. Point was, Harry was supremely apathetic about Justice, and Rebuilding, and Kingsley’s offer to become an Auror. He regularly pointed out that his bit in the war was over, especially because it should have never been his bit to begin with. The only thing that the Order could get him to be passionate about was that he and his peers should never have had to deal with all that and oughtn’t it have been the ADULTS job? To be fair, all adults in the Order agreed, and so they let him be. And now Minerva knew damn well he’d be the only student who wouldn’t touch a hair on Draco Malfoy’s pretty hair due to pettiness from the War. Despite having no promises on peacekeeping if Draco provoked him, she’s thought it a risk worth taking. 

Two months into silently sharing a dorm room and pretending they didn’t notice how little the other boy slept, or the severity of nightmares they had when they did, Draco and Harry (seamlessly, silently, and unintentionally) worked out a routine- Harry stayed awake until 3:30 am, which was when Draco woke, and Harry would sleep. It began by accident, but both were able to sleep better and with far fewer nightmares when they knew the other boy was staying up, watching. All in all, they both got more sleep than they had before, catching up the rest with mid-day naps on the common room couches while their friends looked on. Due to the extra quiet hours, and the need to be silent then, they both began to study more, and their grades slowly crept towards Hermione’s, who hadn’t yet managed her own nightmares, despite rooming with the surprisingly compassionate Daphne Greengrass.   
A little over a month after Draco and Harry had settled into their unspoken routine, a game night was held. It was early November, and no one in their dormitory had bothered to celebrate Halloween a few nights ago, so there was plenty of extra food from the feast the elves had snuck into the 8th years fridge, and a few bottles of alcohol were to be had. What began with simple card games delved quickly into strip poker, and when nearly everyone was down to their pants and rather bitter about it, truth or dare, as they were a bunch of 18 year olds who were too broken to be randy enough for spin the bottle.   
Houseless, mostly clothes-less, and with a small dose of some black-market veritaserum Pansy apparently kept on hand mixed into everyone’s drinks, they formed a tight circle. The rule was you had to sip before telling a truth, but you didn’t have to if you wanted to take a dare. At first, Hermione suggested calling the War off-limits, but Blaise quickly pointed out that it was so integral to their lives now, it couldn’t be. They’d come to the agreement that direct questions about the War did not need to be answered if the person did not want to.   
That lead to most questions being about romance and love, because it was something they’d all wanted, but few of them had been able to make time for in the most recent years.   
Harry chose truth.  
“Why did you and Ginny break up?” Pansy, ever the gossip, tried to make a point of relatively harmless questions or dares for the golden trio.   
“Because I realized I don’t like women. Because I noticed how much she looked like my mother. Because as we grew up, we grew to have very little in common aside from Quidditch. Because she realized she could never forgive me for leaving her here when I left last year. More, but those are the biggest. Take your pick.” Harry spoke very monotone, and Ron watched him carefully. Ron had never asked, beyond checking in with Ginny directly after, who’d said it was mostly her idea to begin with. Interestingly, Harry didn’t seem aware of that. Smart one, his sister, letting Harry think he’d thought of it.   
“Daphne.” It was Harry’s turn to ask.  
“Dare.” Daphne always chose dare- he supposed she thought it safer than having to offer information about herself. Compassionate and supportive as she was, she was very much a closed book.   
“I dare you to… give a kiss to the person in this room you would most like to marry, if you had to pick.” Harry liked to get around such trivialities like not being able to ask her outright. Dares could still get plenty of information. He also enjoyed the shock on her face as she realized that he’d just re-worded the “truth” question he’d wanted to ask her- and thrown in a little action to it, too! How dare he!   
Daphne sat up on to her knees, sipped her wine, then winced, seemingly having forgotten it was spiked. She frowned, but leaned around Hermione and kissed Millicent on the cheek. Harry smiled softly at her, and she glared at him, but recalled his own confession of not ‘liking women,’ and stored away Potter’s apparent shared homosexuality. Then called out Draco’s name, smiling slightly when he chose “truth.”   
“What are your plans for after we graduate?”  
Draco, it would seem, wanted to take a Potions apprenticeship. He vocalized a spot of worry about getting accepted into any programs of quality, subtly brandishing his left forearm as he’d mentioned it.

Not much later, Dean fell asleep on Blaise’s shoulder. They went a few more rounds, and Pansy snuggled into Ron’s arm, then Lavender rather suddenly dropped on Millicent’s lap, and Harry called it a night. He (tiredly, drunkenly) held out his hand to Draco, because it was Draco’s turn to sleep first, and Draco (confused, dazed) took it and hauled himself up. Ron stared on, but no one else payed them any mind, and when Harry waved goodnight, Ron didn’t seem upset, simple intrigued.   
The next morning, Hermione apprehended Draco to inform him that she would be writing all the European Potions Masters and vouching for him, both personally, and of his talent. He gaped like a fish as she turned heel and made her way out of the great hall, steaming coffee in hand. Eventually, he went to breakfast, sitting next to Harry in the seat she’s just vacated. 

As the months passed, Harry and Draco grew closer, began comforting one another after the (newly) occasional nightmare, conferring with each other about homework assignments, saving each other’s favorite dishes if one was late to mealtimes, and so-forth. It all came to a head one day after Draco came out of his shower to find Harry still in their room- abnormal enough that Draco hadn’t brought his robe into the bathroom with him, and was currently using his towel to dry his hair before spelling styling charms into it. As such, he was rather exposed, and Harry was staring. After a moment of frozenly staring back at Harry, Draco huffed and moved on towards his wardrobe, casting the towel aside, and proceeding to get dressed. As he was pulling on his slacks, he glanced back up at Harry, who had seemingly developed a rather sever fever in the interim. Draco rolled his eyes, shrugged on his shirt, and finished getting ready for the day before offering Harry a hand off the bed to head down to breakfast.   
Harry took his hand, and didn’t let go of it until moments before entering the great hall. He’d grown more and more red, and it occurred to Draco over waffles a few minutes later that Harry hadn’t had a fever, but that he’d been blushing, and why, but oh right, that night in November he’d said he ‘didn’t like women’ and … OH.   
Well, Draco thought, Valentines is in a week and a half. I’d better get something now, in case. And as they left the great hall together, Draco wove his fingers between the tan ones swinging gently next to him. Harry promptly began to blush again, and squeezed Draco’s hand every now and again. Draco smiled serenely. 

Narcissa had kindly mailed Draco the February catalogue for their preferred gift shop in Paris’s wizarding shopping center, with a note attached suggesting he order small platonic gifts for people whom he thought may be amicable to friendship, as a token of his regret. Valentines day seemed a silly time for this, but so few of the older students had gone home for Christmas, and even those who had (Weaselys, Neville, Blaise, and a small collection of sixth and fifth years) had all come back to the castle early, and seemed more despondent than before they’d left. Draco had known before how horrid it would feel to try and have holidays at the Manor- he’s rather the year of freedom to get back on his feet. It clearly hadn’t been a time to be trying to make amends with the winning side.   
Perusing the pages of the romantic gifts section though… they all seemed so feminine. Harry, regardless of sexuality, was by no means flamboyant. That was Draco himself. And all the gifts in the ‘for the man in your life’ pages were decidedly not right. Giving up on Harry, he decided his mother had a point, and began flipping through the not-valentines gifts. Hermione certainly deserved something significant; he’d already received two letters from Potion Masters saying they’d look forward to applications from him, should he want to work with them. Minerva also, for the protection and normalcy she’d worked hard to give him and the rest of the students who’d been less-than-honorable in the outcome of the war.   
Harry, to his credit, had the same idea, but rather than flipping through pages of gifts that twirled and fluttered, he hopped his broom, and flew off the tower towards Hogsmead as soon as Hermione let him flee the library. It wasn’t technically allowed, but rules regarding curfew and leaving the grounds hadn’t been enforced on the eighth years much, so he wasn’t worried. There were only a few shops in the village that had such gifts, but in one that didn’t seem to be admitting a holiday was nearing, Harry came across a rather ornate self-inking set of fountain pens. The salesman explained how one could even control the color with a simple charm. Harry didn’t wonder how, but he knew both that Draco would love them, and that he possessed nothing so unique. He’d seen a few specialty quills on his desk, but nearly no one used pens in wizarding world. They had a much greater potential for luxury, Harry mused. He had them gift wrapped, which turned out to be a simple brown paper with a golden ribbon. It was perfect.   
When he returned to his dorm, Draco was filling out a form of some sort, cross-legged on his bed. He had a few galleons next to him, and shortly, sealed both the form and coins into an envelope, and left the room. 

On the Tuesday morning of February 14th, Harry was quite certain he’d never been more nervous. He had kissed Draco on the cheek three times, held his hand nearly daily (though only on the walk to breakfast), and been caught staring too many times to count. Though he was sure it was close to the number he’d caught Draco staring at him (473). At first, Draco had blushed and looked away, but in the past few days, had taken to either smirking and raising a brow, or softly smiling at Harry, and no one needed to guess which reaction Harry preferred. Truly, because Ron derived great joy at pointing it out. However, they very certainly had not talked about it. In fact, they almost never spoke. It was a source of great stress for each of them, but they both tried to pretend that it was fine.   
Harry decided to give Draco his gift at breakfast. Draco liked big gestures, and god knows that their budding courtship was no secret (Thanks, Ron).   
Draco had decided the same, because he had a small army of packages to distribute, though Harry’s was wrapped in red with a golden ribbon, and the rest in plain white with silver. He’d gotten a small token for each eighth year, and a few significant things for a few other people (Hermione, the Headmistress, the new Potions instructor, Hagrid, Luna.) As Harry and he reached the table, he opened his bag, spelling each box to its owner. Minerva seemed rather pleased as she tucked the wrapped box away, Hermione was astounded, and gasped audibly when she unwrapped the modified Kindle, with a list of spells to install wizarding books on it, and everyone else varied between mild surprise and light suspicion. Most people opened them, however, and those whom he’d written proper letters seemed to glance them over, then stash them away. Harry’s, he simply handed over to his left after watching the rest of his peers. Harry handed a box right back, wrapped in brown.   
“Sorry,” He shrugged, “the shopkeeper seemed oblivious to the time of year. Brown was all he had.” Draco shook his head; intentions aside, pink was far too gaudy, and even Harry knew better than to try red with him.   
“Thanks, anyways.” Draco gestured for Harry to go first, putting the brown box in his lap for the moment. Harry gently untied the bow, then proceeded to un-tape each seam with such care no paper was torn. He set it aside and folded it before opening the box inside.   
Resting atop the two books Draco had chosen was a simple silk scarf, with roses and apple blossoms printed on it. It had been charmed to keep it’s wearer warm, despite covering relatively little of the body, or even being folded in a pocket. Harry lifted it gently, raising and eyebrow at Draco, who shrugged and pointedly glanced down again. Harry then pulled the books up- a small, old paperback that proclaimed itself a dictionary of flowers, and upon inspection, was printed in 1891, and a much larger book bound in dark green leather with golden trim and no visible title. Opening it, the title page had written in intricate calligraphy “A Newcomer’s Guide to Pureblood Courtship Rituals and Gifts.” Harry smiles, and tucked the scarf into the book, deciding to look up its significance later. This would be a perfect solution to their communication barrier; talking seemed a bit too risky when not that long ago they couldn’t exchange full sentences without coming to blows. He tucks his gifts into his book bag, gently atop the others he’d been given by random students already. This deserved to be above them.   
Draco watched Harry, and elbows him once he’s done to alert him that it’s his turn to open a gift. Unlike Harry, Draco tears the paper quickly, vanishing it when he’d done, and then turns his attention to the quill set- much like his own gift to Harry, this was a method of alternate communication tied into the luxurious gift itself. He was glad that it seemed to be a mutual concern, and remained an unspoken issue that neither wanted to ‘talk it out.’   
With a broad smile, he looked over at Harry, and only smiled more as they met each other’s eyes. A moment passed, and Harry wrapped a hand in Draco’s hair, pulling him in.   
Valentine’s Day morning, seated in the middle of their friends in the Great Hall, the boys shared their first kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Apple Blossoms: Promise of Better Things Ahead  
> Roses: Love, obviously.  
> Silk scarves: Who TF knows; make up whatever you want.  
> Items charmed: Depending on what they're charmed to do: Means special attention to be paid in [caring for someone, protecting someone, providing someone with comforts, etc]
> 
> I may write more ficlets in this universe. lmk what yall think.


End file.
